


Every parent's nightmare

by dragoneyes



Series: The Prince and The Dragon [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Crack, Dragon!Cas, F/M, Fluff, Interspecies Romance, John showing that he and Sam think the same way, M/M, also Mary is awesome, he goes through the same mental pattern, it's ridiculous, no seriously, prince!Dean, the men of this family are ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 09:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3204593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragoneyes/pseuds/dragoneyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John isn't entirely sure when his eldest son started to disappear on him, but he has fully set his mind on getting to the bottom of that strange behavior.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every parent's nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> I'm extremely sorry for Mary Winchester. I've lost any kind of control over her.
> 
> Also please be warned that there is a brief recollection of potentially triggering scene, see end notes for more info.

Contrary to popular belief in his family, John was not completely clueless.

When it came down to running his kingdom, he made sure to be always a step ahead of everyone – especially those members of the Council who invitably tried to sway his opinion in a way that would benefit them somehow – and, since he could admit to himself that the he wasn't the most empathetic person in the country, he always made sure to defer to his wife's opinion in matters that concerned the wellbeing of their people.

He might have encountered some difficulties in understanding completely what was going on inside his sons' heads since they entered their adolescent years, but he was still firmly convinced that he could read most of their actions without fail.

He knew the way Dean would lower his gaze in obedience every time that John gave him an order, or the way Sam would squint in displeasure, his mouth drawn into a tight flat line, when witnessing such interactions; he knew that where his eldest son thought like a soldier, his youngest son thought like a ruler; and he knew that, if traditions – and John himself – didn't demand otherwise, they would switch their roles in a heartbeat.

The point was: in spite of what everyone might think, he did know his sons quite well.

So, when his firstborn missed, for the third time in a row, one of the Council's reunions that were supposed to help him in his training as future head of the kingdom, John started to feel a bit concerned about his son.

(Incidentally, what John referred to as "a bit concerned", was also called "paranoically unbearable" by his wife during her more and more frequent visits to the kitchens to grumble with Ellen about the oblivious men in her house.)

It was a fortune that Sam was always around to lend a hand in Dean's stead. In fact, it was during one of this occasions that the king was finally convinced that the youngest member of the Winchester family was far more interested in politics than his elder brother, when he brought up to John's attention an old allegeance law that no-one in the Council seemed to be aware of.

That, however, was not the point.

In spite of the youngest Winchester's conviction that John still regarded him as barely more than an unruly little kid, the king was quite conscious of his intelligence and his constant need to show his valor.

What really worried him was that he had no idea why his eldest son – his usually predictable, perfectly obedient eldest son – was suddenly missing his engagements more and more often with every passing week, as if he had abruptly remembered he had never been allowed much leeway in his life and he now were experiencing a late rebellion phase of some kind.

He had tried to bring up Dean's weird behavior to Mary, but she had merely wondered why he was so surprised: their son had been so obedient to John's every whim since early childhood, that she was beginning to feel concerned about his apparent inability to make decisions on his own – it became obvious to him at that point, that his wife still had to fully grasp the gravity of the situation, which left only him to ensure that nothing was wrong with their child.

This was when he saw That Thing for the first time.

Now, John could admit that at times he forgot the faces of a few of their servants, or that he really didn't know the name of all the maids running up and down the castle to clean, tidy and spruce things up when needed, but he was pretty sure that the man currently standing in the middle of the corridor like a sore thumb, was not one of the castle's inhabitants.

He was staring at the wall, head cocked to one side and brows drawn in confusion, as if he had never seen a painting before in his life, and John wondered how the hell he had managed to sneak past the guards to begin with. From where he was standing, the king couldn't make out any sign of weapons on the other, but he wasn't born yesterday and he was fully aware that the weird man could be hiding any kind of small blade under the beige cloak he wore.

It didn't look like he had been noticed so far, so he slowly circled the intruder to stand behind his back, while he silently pulled out one of the knife he always had attached to his belt: he might be a king, but that didn't mean he should go around unarmed.

He debated placing the blade against the man's exposed neck and demand the reason for his presence inside the castle, but his thoughts halted when he saw the other turn his head to glance back at him with a single blue eye.

"I have to wonder: why is it that some of your people covet riches almost as much as we do, while other seem perfectly happy to share it with those who have less than them?" the man's voice was a low rumble that seemed somewhat out of place coming from his lean body – or maybe it was just his oversized cloak making him look smaller than he was, John wasn't sure – and it didn't show any trace of worry for the unsheathed knife in the king's hand. "It seems like a very chaotic behavioral pattern to abide by."

"Who the hell are you?" the king narrowed his eyes, ignoring that incongruous comment and raising his knife instead, ready for a fight if the other decided to start any trouble.

The mysterious man didn't reply at first, and he limited himself to peering back at John with eery blue eyes that seemed to be gazing right at his soul. A small shiver of warning ran up the base of his spine, but he ignored it in favor of keeping his attention focused on the weird intruder, still staring at him with the same curiosity of a cat playing with a bird.

It took at least a whole minute of silent and uncomfortable studying on the other's part before he slowly blinked once and turned his gaze back on the wall in front of him.

"I don't know why you believe that you can make someone happy without asking them what they want," he considered, voice quiet and head tilting once again in confusion.

The painting that the man was staring at was an old thing that the family had inherited long ago from a branch of the bloodline by now completely gone, and it took a moment for John to realize that he wasn't as much studying the picture as he was evaluating the golden frame encasing it.

"I asked you a question," John replied, his voice going hard, while he ignored the other's non sequitur in favor of placing his weapon against the intruder's neck. He didn't even seem to notice the deadly blade pressing against his pale skin.

"The answer to it is a story all of its own," he hummed, his tone becoming amused, as if no threat were being made to his life.

It wasn't a good sign.

"Then start talking," John barked in return, while he reached for his belt with his free hand. He always had with himself a small flask of holy water – an old habit he developed in his early adolescence after those first talks from his father about the things that went bumping in the night – and he had all the intentions of testing the man in front of him: he was no fool and he knew full well that if someone wasn't scared of a knife to their throat, then they were either crazy or not a person at all.

The man in front of him didn't reply. Instead he tilted his head to stare once again with contemplative silence at the golden frame of the painting hanging on the wall.

Without lowering his weapon or tearing his eyes away from the other, John managed to uncork the flask with one hand. He was about to pour the holy water on the man's head when he finally spoke again.

"You should learn how to talk with your sons," he mused aloud and the king had no idea when he had turned once again to stare at him with his unreadable blue eyes.

When John blinked, the man was gone.

******

If there was something that John was, he was through in his attempts at keeping his family safe.

His wife called it "being a paranoid idiot", but the king knew better: he was simply doing whatever was needed to keep any danger away from them.

It didn't matter that he had only seen That Thing one time, or that the strange man-who-probably-wasn't-a-man had not done anything to warrant his suspicion – aside from vanishing from right under his nose, which really didn't help the other's cause in the slightest – John had no doubt it wasn't a coincidence that an unknown man had started lurking inside the castle at just about the same time his eldest son started acting weird.

He tried to make Mary see reason, tried to tell her that their son was probably haunted by some spirit or ghost that had stuck to him after one of the hunts he went on with Sam and the Royal Knights every once in a while, but her reaction had been, at best, nonplussed. She raised her head from the papers she had been signing – giving her seal of approval to help a small village whose culture had been almost completely buried out by an unlucky landslide – and she pointed out that, even if that were true, no creature of the night could enter the castle: the walls had been made with salted bricks that prevented most undead and demonic beings from even taking a step into the castle's perimeter.

She insisted that he was probably stressed and that their eldest son being happier and more relaxed than she had seen him in years couldn't possibly be a sign of upcoming doom. John tried to point out that any sudden change in character was surely worrisome in some fashion, but his wife just let out a long sigh and commented that, if that were true, John himself should have made sure he was not haunted when he asked for her hand – which made no sense at all, since they obviously were two completely different situations, and he had no idea why she would ever make such a connection.

It was clear that his wife was not going to be of any help until he had at least found other proofs to his claims, and, for the best part of the following week, he was left frustrated and tense due to the constant state of alertness he had fallen in.

(It might have gotten to the point that even Bobby – who usually told people to "let that idjit stew in his own foolishness" whenever John was in one of his foul moods – shout at him to get a hold on himself before the whole kingdom started to worry that their king had gone insane.

John wasn't sure that would actually happen, but he toned his relentless pacing and his surly grumbling down a bit after that, deciding that while he needed to make sure that Dean was fine, he shouldn't be remissive in his other duties in the meanwhile.)

******

It took another uneventful week – if one ignored the fact that still Dean was no-where to be found more times than not – before John was faced once again with That Thing.

"Faced" was maybe not the right term, as this time the king had no chance to interact with it whatsoever. He had been walking through a corridor on the higher levels of the inner castle, when, in passing by a window, he noticed some movement in the courtyard.

Normally he wouldn't give it any mind, as it was always busy with the coming and going of servants, but John had woken up with the first lights of day with the intention of going back over some documents for the Council reunion of that afternoon, and it was still pretty early in the morning. Most servants would be either in the kitchens, helping out with the making of breakfast, or occupied with heating the bathing water for the whole royal family and the few guests that were staying in the castle: winter had already started after all, and while it still was early for snow, the air was chilly and, after the long hours of the night, fires needed to be rekindled and rooms warmed up.

So, when he saw his son walking by while he pulled Impala by her bridles, he paused to watch. The black mare followed the prince without complain, playfully bumping her muzzle against his back, and John watched as his son directed her towards the other side of the courtyard. She was old – having the king bought her when she was still young and spirited – but still maintained her strong and stubborn demeanor. He had given her to his son when he became old enough to sit on a horse on his own, but with her age growing Dean had started to only riding her every once in a while to stretch her legs.

The two of them were still very attached, and it was not unusual to see them together – John remembered with amused fondness those times he noticed his son, still barely more than a child, sneak past the stableboy to smuggle fresh apples for the black mare waiting inside – but what attracted his attention was the dark-haired man waiting for them in the shadow of the castle's walls, head cocked to one side and familiar beige cloak wrapped around his body to protect him against the chill of the winter air.

John couldn't see his face quite clearly from where he was peering outside the window, but in his long years of experience he had come to trust his instincts, the same instincts that were screaming at him that the one watching with apparent calm while his son walker closer, was That Thing he had stumbled upon only a week before.

It made him curse under his breath, his hand instinctively going to the silver knife at his belt. He was about to turn and run to his son's aid, believing that the other had not noticed the creature lurking in the shadows and waiting for him to pass by, but he stopped when he saw Dean's face split into the widest grin John had ever seen in...years, really; since well before he was formally proclaimed crown prince.

The expression on his face was so unexpected that the king couldn't help but stare, frozen in place, while his son closed the distance between himself and That Thing. He only stopped when about half a feet separated them and then he reached out to place his gloved hand – the one that wasn't holding Impala's bridles – on the creature's shoulder into a friendly squeeze.

 _Not a ghost then_ , John's mind supplied him with, while he watched his son lean closer to murmur something at the human-shaped being standing next to him. They were so close together that it was a wonder they weren't brushing each other with every move they made.

That Thing seemed to take into consideration Dean's words, before slowly raising its hand in Impala's direction, stopping only when a few inches were left from her muzzle. The mare regarded it with wary suspicion, her ears nervously twitching in a way that the king was very familiar with: both him and Dean used to ride her when hunting for evil creatures plaguing their kingdom when they were younger, and, while she wasn't easily scared by any of them anymore, her senses were still keenly aware of anything supernatural happening nearby.

She snorted in displeasure, shaking her head – and for an instant John felt a vicious pleasure in the thought that maybe she was about to show some sense and bite That Thing's hand off – but Dean stepped closer to rub her neck and murmur encouragements in her ear, soothing her distress with ease. She still was eyeing the unnatural being in front of her with distrust, but she remained quiet when That Thing laid careful fingers on her muzzle, scratching it gently while Dean watched the scene with a smile on his face.

It made John cringe: whatever was able to enter the castle's walls and deceive his son so completely couldn't be any of the run-of-the-mill evils that the Royal Knights hunted down.

Without further hesitance, he turned to stalk down the corridor with the intention of putting a stop to That Thing's machinations once and for all.

******

When he arrived at the courtyard he didn't find either of them, and a quick check of the stables confirmed him that Impala was still missing: Dean must have gone out with her and That Thing.

He had been cursing and getting a horse ready to follow after them, when Sam – attracted by all the ruckus – came to investigate what was going on. It only took John a minute to explain the other that his older brother was in danger and needed their help, hoping that the younger prince would offer to help with the search, but Sam limited himself to stare at him with studious consideration on his face.

When he spoke, his tone was slow and measured and his forehead creased into a displeased frown.

"I saw Dean going out with Impala," he carefully replied, "there was no-one else with him."

This made no sense at all.

******

"Maybe it's a siren."

John knew that he had been striding the room for the best part of the last hour, but he couldn't quite stop the need to release his body's tenseness in some way. He had been going through all his knowledge on magical and supernatural creatures in an attempt to understand what That Thing was under the silent gaze of his wife, sitting at a nearby table with a pile of papers waiting in front of her to be approved by the king. She had started to entertain herself with some unfinished needlework at some point during John's restless pacing, but at his sudden comment she raised her eyes to send him a glance.

"What are you talking about now?"

"That Thing!" John sharply exclaimed, stopping in the middle of the room to face her. "It was following Dean around and he wasn't suspecting a thing!" he continued, "It can walk through salted walls and manipulate people's mind: it must be a siren."

"Is this the same one from a week ago?" Mary didn't sound particularly concerned, but her eyes narrowed in suspicion. John wasn't entirely sure if it was directed at him rather than his words, but he grimaced nonetheless.

"Dean was talking to it and being all...happy about it!" he gestured with his hand, unable to find a better way to describe the unprecedented dopey look on his son's face. "He even made it meet Impala!"

He began to pace once again, unable to stay still when his mind repeated the whole scene once again in clear, awful details. It took him several minutes of fierce striding from one end of the room to the other to notice that his wife had still to comment on his worries.

Surely, even though she had been unconvinced when he first told her about his encounter with That Thing, now that he had proof of the fact that it was haunting their son, she would finally see his reasons, right?

When he turned to glance at her, it was not shared concern that met him, but a pair of narrowed eyes staring at him in sudden suspicion.

"Have you been drinking again?" she asked, her voice was quite and even, but John was intimately familiar with that tone: it was the one that always made him shiver and worry that he might loose some precious parts of his anatomy to the edge of her sword, if he took just one wrong step.

He knew why she was staring at him like that – of course he knew, the memory of what he had almost done would plague him for the rest of his life! – and suddenly his previous agitation was replaced by anxious distress: while he was very proud of his position at the head of the family, he also knew that crossing his wife was never a wise idea when she was in that mood. She might be retired, but she used to be Captain of the Royal Knights for a reason.

"No, of course no," he was quick to answer, stepping closer so that he could meet her gaze and let her know he was saying the truth. "I promised I wouldn't anymore, and I haven't."

It had been one of the lowest point of his life: the stress from running the kingdom, the risk of entering war with one of the neighboring countries over a petty misunderstanding, and the almost-to-term pregnancy of his wife had all contributed to make him turn to the bottle. He had managed to restrain himself enough to be sober for any official reunion with the Council, but days of frustrated haggling to try resolving everything peacefully finally turned into an evening of hopeless drinking.

It hadn't been a pretty sight, and it was now one of his biggest regrets, one that lurked inside of him – murmuring and insinuating doubts about damaging his relationship with his son once and for all – together with the knowledge that he managed to break the inconditional trust that his child held for him.

While the threats that Mary shouted at him once she found out might have pulled him out of his drunken stupor, what still kept him from having more than the odd glass of wine every now and then was the hazy feeling of child-sized limbs twisting and hitting against his chest – trying to get free of his hold in spite of being so small – and the sound of scared cries for his mother to help him get away from that monster wearing his father's face.

Dean avoided him for weeks after that, running away every time their eyes met, as if expecting to be hit again if he as much as breathed in the wrong way.

He had quite never gone back to his cheery self afterwards, withdrawing in obedience and "Yes, sir. I will do as you wish, sir," until he was proclaimed crown prince and any carefreeness he had left disappeared completely.

Dean might think that he could fool John with the cocky grin and easy banter he usually directed at people, but the king knew him enough to see that, while his son might be content most of the time, he wasn't happy at all. That had been one of the reasons why he insisted so much for him to find himself a family: it was the best path to happiness that John knew.

Squirming under the assessing gaze of his wife, he waited until she seemed satisfied with what she was seeing on his face and finally relaxed again.

"Well, even if it is a supernatural or magical creature like you think, it can't be a siren," Mary sighed in the end, her needlework now forgotten on the table next to the papers still waiting for John's attention. "You said you saw it a week ago, right? If it were a siren, then Dean would have already started to show signs of its influence."

"He's missing most of the time," John argued, a frown on his face because surely his wife must have noticed too that their son had been almost impossible to corner and talk to in the last few weeks. The cocked eyebrow he received seemed to be telling him otherwise.

"I've talked to him plenty. He was generally happy and in a good mood," Mary replied, her tone betraying quite a bit of surprise at that new piece of information. "Definitely not avoidant or murderous. It wasn't the same for you?"

John's lips pressed into a tight line, worry leaving space to confusion: was Dean evading him specifically?

"He's been untraceable for me," he replied "I've seen him a few times, but as soon as I try to talk to him, he finds an excuse to run away from it."

And, really, he could only call his son's flustered mumbling 'run away'. It was so unlike the Dean he was used to, that John had felt perfectly justified in suspecting the intervention of some kind of supernatural monster influencing his thoughts.

"He looked embarrassed," the king concluded, the frown on his face only growing deeper under the considering gaze of his wife. She didn't look worried. In fact, her eyes were now sparkling with interested curiosity.

"When was the last time you tried to marry him off?" her question was so unexpected and disconnected from the rest of the discussion that it took John a few seconds to understand it.

"A few weeks ago?" he finally managed to shrug, completely clueless as to why his wife would suddenly feel the need to inquire about his attempts at finding their son a proper family. "Like I said: it's been difficult to talk to him about anything..."

"Was he embarrassed when you mentioned setting him up to meet the newest pretender to future queen of the kingdom?"

Well, that was an interesting question. Usually Dean became angry or frustrated when John decided that he should be engaged to the most suitable noblelady of age that he managed to find – no matter the fact that the marriage was never followed through because his son, for weird and unfathomable reason, kept being kidnapped by the dragon lurking the nearby mountains, every single time – but the last few instances had been awkward at best.

"I think so?"

The stare that Mary fixed on him at those words made him once again want to squirm: what did he say wrong now? She was looking at him like she was trying to read inside his skull by force of willpower alone, her light eyes squinting at him with studious consideration.

"John," she said in the end, her voice coming slow and yet fondly frustrated at the same time, "you've great intuition and you're a great ruler, but – God! – when it comes to your sons you're dumber than a salted brick."

John frowned.

That was...completely unwarranted?

Did she still think that his suspicions were unreasonable?

"Your son is not possessed, nor he's under a spell or any influence from any kind of supernatural creature," the queen sighed in the end, the lines of her face softening into a smile. "Your son is in love."

It took several instants for the king to fully grasp what his wife was saying. His forehead creased, his lips pressed into a severe line, and then suddenly his eyes widened in surprise: that couldn't be right!

He had tried, and tried, and tried, but Dean had never...he had never really...he was polite and played nice – although cornering him in the first place was another matter altogether – but being in love? John had started to despair that, even if he did accept to marry anyone, his son would ever be anything than merely content with his future family.

"That's wonderful news! We need to meet this lady of his!" he exclaimed, expecting his wife to share his excitement: she might have been skeptical about John's whole plan of making Dean start a family of his own, but if this woman was truly worthy of being his son's future queen, then he had no doubts that Mary would be as eager to know more about it as he was.

When he turned his attention to her face, it was clear she was not. A frown was creasing her forehead and her lips were pursed in an expression that the king couldn't quite read.

"John, I think you're missing a detail there," she carefully offered in the end, her eyes peering at her husband with the same attention a hawk would reserve for a prey.

"What?...did Dean fell for a commoner?"

That wouldn't be ideal – it might bring scandal among the more conservative noble houses – but if the girl Dean had his eyes on was a decent person, they could make it work somehow.

"No, that's not..." his wife started but she interrupted herself, pressing her lips together before tilting her head. "Why are you so fixated on the fact that he needs to marry a woman?"

"To have a proper family. With children." the king replied with a confused frown: hadn't he been clear enough on that matter?

"He could adopt." Mary suggested with the same expression of careful scrutiny on her face. There was something going on inside his wife's mind but John couldn't quite pinpoint what was making her act so cautious.

"That's not really the same."

"It really rather is," when she was quick to interrupt him again, he knew that something must be brewing inside her head, ready to come out. "Family doesn't end with blood."

John stepped closer until he was leaning against the table at which his wife was still sitting, and she looked up at him without adding a word, her expression still the same as before. He didn't know if he should feel curios or wary of asking for an explanation to her behavior.

"I don't get it, why is this an issue?"

"Well, it's not an 'issue' as such, but..." she started with a sigh, "John, I don't know if you noticed, but your firstborn's attention is kind of solely focused on half of the population..."

"Yes, women," the king frowned: he had heard plenty of stories about his son's conquests. In fact, he even had to remind Dean that, as a prince, he should at least maintain a minimum of decorum – or at the very least, make sure not to leave illegitimate offsprings all through the kingdom. "He got quite a reputation about it."

For an instant Mary's expression changed, her lips pursing like she had just bitten on a sour lemon. Then another slow sigh left her and her features softened once again in the kind of fond frustration that she seemed to reserve only for him.

"Yes," she commented, "that's about all he has on that."

"What are you trying to say?" John frowned, confused once more: there was no doubt that she was circling around something, but he was having difficulty understanding exactly what she was trying to imply.

"That your son likes broad shoulders and tight rears, rather than curvy hips and full bosoms."

The frown creasing the king's forehead not only didn't leave, but it became even deeper. Surely his wife wasn't try to say what he thought she meant by it...

"What?" he asked, voice flat and eyes searching for an answer on her face. Yes, judging by her raising eyebrow she meant exactly _that._

"I take it to mean that you never noticed him taking notice of any of the guards'...hum...assets?" Mary sighed leaning against the back of the chair while she stared up at her husband. In spite of her careful tone, she appeared relatively relaxed with that topic of discussion, as if she had already thoroughly thought about it.

"You mean you did?"

"Oh, I did alright," she chuckled, shaking her head with amusement. "He isn't as careful around me as he's around you. He has rather good tastes actually."

Well, he didn't see that one coming for sure, not with all the rumors about his son's – apparently supposed – escapades. Especially because Dean didn't seem to have any kind of trouble charming any lady that John prompted in his way – although, now that he thought about it, it was very weird that his son had never denied any of the rumors circulating around his proclivity in that regards.

Had his son been faking interest in women in a roundabout attempt to appease him?

He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that possibility.

"He's _not_ careful around me." the king grumbled even while he felt his face heat up under the incredulous look his wife sent him at his claim.

"My dearest, I'm sorry to tell you, but your son is as guarded as if he were sneaking inside an enemy outpost when you're around," she replied.

John's frown grew deeper, not at all helped by the amusement quirks of her lips: if she had known for so long, she could have pointed it out to him! It would have avoided so much wasted attempts on his part to find a wife for his – seemingly completely-uninterested-in-the-female-form – son. Now he needed to restart all his work from the top!

"So, fine," he grunted unhappily at the entertained expression her face, "I'll try to find him a husband from now on. I still don't understand why we're even having this discussion to begin with."

"Well..." she hummed, her head tilting once again to the side, "are you entirely sure that the man you saw him with is not human?"

Oh.

Oh, no.

No, no, no, no, no, no!

She couldn't possibly mean...

When John saw the apologetic look she was now turning towards him, horror firmly settled on his face.

******

All things considered John was convinced that his wife was taking the whole situation far too nonchalantly.

Once the king had decided he needed to find and speak to his son as soon as possible, she insisted to come along, claiming that the two men were unable to have a proper conversation on their own without her making sure they weren't being a pair of children about it.

It would have been quite insulting if Mary hadn't been quick to remind her husband how bad both him and their son were at communication, by pointing out once again that if it were up to him, John would be still trying to marry Dean off to a woman.

That conversation resulted in John interrogating the majority of the castle's guards to find out Dean's whereabout – he was confirmed by the ones standing at the gate that his son hadn't gone out, but nothing more – while his wife reassured the incidental targets of his foul mood that everything was all right and no-one was at risk of loosing any part of their anatomy – no matter how much John insisted otherwise.

To be honest, the way she kept looking at him with indulgent amusement rather than worry, made him feel a bit like a child bossing his way around a group of adults. It was both frustrating and completely unhelpful in making him feel even remotely better about the possibility that his eldest son had _feelings_ for That Thing.

It took almost two hours of fretting, interrogating, and demanding to know where his son had vanished, to finally be told, not by any of the guards – who were supposed to keep track of this kind of things but apparently could not – but by a young maid returning from the laundry room, that she saw the prince sneak in one of the watchtowers together with a handsome man she had never seen before.

It hurried John all the more, so much so that at some point during his mad scrambling up the stairs that lead to the topmost floor of the tower, he lost his wife somewhere behind him – there was a part of his mind that pointed out the way she was shouting at him to slow down and he would most likely feel her wrath later about it, but he couldn't give it more than a passing thought: he had more pressing matters to worry about.

When he finally reached his destination, he didn't waste even an instant: one of his hand flew to the heavy knob, while the other unsheathed the long knife at his waist. He didn't have the time to get his sword with him, too blinded by fear for his son's wellbeing, and he mentally cursed himself for his lack of foresight even while he threw the thick wooden door open.

"Get the fuck away from my son!" he shout even before fully taking in the sight before him, his focus immediately captured by the familiar dark-haired figure sitting at the only table of the room. A pair of unnaturally bright blue eyes stared back at him while they slowly blinked once, and then That Thing tilted its head on one side in curiosity.

It gave no other acknowledgement of his words.

When it became obvious that it had no intention of making the first move, John sent a quick glance in his son's direction: Dean was sitting at the table, opposite That Thing, and he looked completely unharmed at a first scrutiny. His face was a bit pale, his expression startled, and his lips were moving as if forming silent words that refused to come out properly, but there was no sign of outer injury that John could tell.

"Dean, come here," he ordered, his tone coming out sharp and leaving no room for protests.

And yet his son still hesitated, green eyes glancing at That Thing for an instant, before focusing back on the older man.

"If you stand before you make your move, I will consider it a withdraw on your part," the low rumble of the creature sitting in front of him made Dean freeze in an awkward position halfway through standing, knees still partially bent and leaning with one hand on the armrest of his chair. With a displeased frown he glared back at him and let himself fall back in his sit with a loud thud.

"As if! I'm not gonna let you win this one!" there was a new flare in his eyes and all color had returned to his face with a vengeance.

John was, understandably, very confused at the scene before him, and his confusion only grew deeper when he noticed the chess set orderly laid on the table between the two of them.

They were...playing? That wasn't what he expected.

(Truth be told, during his mad scramble to get to his son before any harm could come to him, John had not been expected much at all, as his mind had seemingly been stuck on the image of That Thing sucking Dean's soul through his mouth.

Certainly not on the possibility that the two of them were playing a friendly game of chess out of everyone's sight.

It made the whole situation look kind of nice, which was ten thousand times worse than anything his worry could have conjured on its own.)

With a furrow now creasing his forehead, the king watched while his son studied the board with rapt attention, green eyes squinting at the checkered surface as if silently prompting the pieces on it to tell him how to act next, before he slowly made his move. Once his rook was back on one of the black squares, That Thing cocked its head on one side.

"That's an interesting move," it commented, studying the pieces layout with a frown now marking his face before waving Dean off. "Talk to your father: I might take a while."

As if remembering only at those words that they were not alone in the room, the prince's eyes darted to the older man still standing a few feet away with his knife drawn out and a glare on his face that could set the coldest mountains in the far north on fire. With slow, careful moves – as if expecting the king to snap at any given moment – Dean stood from his sit and closed the distance between them.

"Hum...I...humm..." he started, eyes not exactly looking in his father's, but rather somewhere just above his left shoulder, and then interrupted himself when nothing coherent came to him.

"What is going on here? Why are you with that thing!" John snapped, his gaze growing even more piercing while he gestured towards the creature still studying the chess board in front of it with intent focus. His tone seemed to finally drag Dean back from his state of uncertainty, and the king watched his son's shoulders straighten in an instinctive reaction, while his previously hesitant expression became resolute.

"His name is Castiel," he finally replied, voice flatter than John had ever heard the other use with him "and he's not 'a thing'. He's my...he's my friend."

The older man didn't miss the way his son corrected himself at the last second, but he decided not to comment on it, focusing instead his newfound rage at his son's apparent idiocy.

No, maybe not idiocy as much as magical influence. It had to be that: what other reasons would Dean have to sneak about in order to pass time with That Thing? John had taught him properly since he was a child that those supernatural and magical creatures that usually had contact with humans were either untrustworthy or outright hostile towards their people, and they should be, at best, killed on sight.

There was clearly something unnatural going on between his son and That Thing.

This needed a drastic approach.

"Are you out of your mind?!" he shout, hoping that his rage would snap his son out of the influences of the spell he was obviously under. "That thing isn't human and it's trying to get you away from your family!"

"That's not true!" Dean immediately defended the creature, but John was not fooled: nothing that came out of his son's mouth at the moment could be relayed on.

"You have been untraceable for most of the last month!" he argued back, trying to appeal to the younger man's reason to escape the clutches of the spell twisting his mind "Every time I need you with the Council, you're nowhere to be found! You are neglecting your duties as crown prince, and it's all That Thing's fault!"

A weird expression twisted his son's face at those words – a grimace as if he had just bitten on a spoiled fruit by accident – and his lips pressed into a tight, pale line. His shoulders sagged a bit, and a series of emotions that John wasn't completely able to identify quickly passed through his eyes, before they settled once again on resolution.

"Well..." Dean finally murmured, his voice coming out low but determined, "maybe that's because I don't want to be crown prince anymore."

What?!

" _What?!_ " John couldn't help the shout of disbelief that was pulled out of him at his son's admission. "Is this That Thing's doings too?!"

"No, it's not," the prince shook his head, and the king could tell that he was trying his best not to start shouting again: he sounded so reasonable, but how was John supposed to trust that his words were his own when the cause for that whole discussion was placidly sitting at only a few feet from them, seemingly perfectly fine with the both of them fighting like they had never done before?

"I never wanted to become king," Dean insisted, not leaving him any time to reply, "that was always Sam: he was the one who bunked in my room to study with me all that political crap I was forced to memorized when I was a kid, just because he wanted to know how the kingdom worked; he was the one who sneaked books out of the library because the one that was given to me by my teacher about 'The Current Allegeances in the Known Land' wasn't enough for him; and he is the one who even now argues with Mom about what laws should be approved or revoked to make everyone's life better! I'm not good at any of those things!"

John stared at his son, feeling like he had just been on the painful end of a sucker punch: if Dean was already so much under the claws of whatever charm spell had been used on him, then the king needed to batten down the hatches before the situation could spiral down even more, but what was he supposed to do? Should he try to get rid of the creature that had messed with his son's head? Would Dean get between them if he tried to attack the thing observing their whole exchanged out of the corner of one of his eerily blue eyes?

"Dean, are you hearing yourself?" he tried to sound reasonable to keep the younger man's focused on his words rather than his movements, while he inched closer to That Thing, one half-step at a time. "This isn't like you. You've always been a good son and done what was best for you. This is That Thing warping your mind to make you say things you don't think!"

"Cas isn't doing anything to me!" Dean finally snapped, irritation and frustration battling for the upper-hand on his face, "I've always been fine going out with the Knights and help people with my own hands instead of ordering them around from a trone, but you kept insisting that as firstborn it was my duty to follow after you: what else was I supposed to do?"

"This is not you, Dean. This is That Thing putting ideas in your head that you don't really belive!" the older man stated while clenching his hand around the hilt of his knife: if he could only close another few precious inches between himself and That Thing, maybe he would be able to sink the blade in its neck before Dean could—

" _ **John Michael Winchester!**_ " whatever he was going to say next to keep his son's attention busy, it was cut short by the sudden roar of maternal rage that came from the door, "Are you shouting at your son _**again**_?!"

Both men froze, slowly turning their head towards the source of the interruption only after they shared an alarmed look.

Now, John was usually a brave man: in his youth he had encountered his fair share of hostile creatures, always facing them blade in hand and cloaked in the confidence that came with years of fighting dangerous beasts, but even he had to admit that the sight of his wife – her dress flapping around her frame, hair messed up in the hurry to run up the stairs after him, and a sword, that the king was almost entirely sure belonged to one of the guards at the watchtower's entrance, in her hand – terrified him more than a bit.

She looked as beautiful and awe-inspiring as the Goddess of War and Hunt from the old tales, but she also looked equally terrifying.

"Your husband was not pleased when Dean informed him that he does not wish to succeed him at the head of your kingdom," of course That Thing would start talking _now_.

The man-shaped creature was watching them from its spot at the table, not letting out even the smallest inkling of worry at the fact that, in the last few minutes, two people had burst into the room, weapons in hand. It was cradling a black bishop from the chess set in its fingers, absently rolling it between them as its blue eyes peered in their direction with unfazed curiosity.

It made him look like a child studying a new specimen of insect just before they squashed it under their foot, and it made dread spread through John's body at the notion that this monster had its clutches firmly sunk inside his son.

At least its intervention had turned Mary's attention towards it. His wife was studying the creature with intense focus, taking in the sight of the weird man bundled up in its oversized beige cloak – a cloak that, now that the king examined it more closely, was suspiciously familiar. They stared at each other, gaze locked in what looked like a silent battle for dominance of some kind, until Mary lowered the sword in her hand, the tip of it brushing against the stone ground.

She didn't let go of the hilt.

"I'm going to guess you are the one John kept talking about," she commented in the end, eyes still studying the being in front of her like she was still trying to understand what to make of it.

"I'm going to guess so as well," That Thing replied, face scrunching up in a sign of serious consideration at her remark, "I have no idea what your husband might talk with you about."

The quiet snort that followed those words, made John raise his head to find that his son was biting his bottom lip in an attempt to avoid letting out any more sounds of amusement. His gaze was focused back on That Thing, the corner of his eyes crinkling in a way that made him look both younger and far happier than the king had seen in a long time.

It was far from reassuring.

"Mom, like I was telling Dad, this is Castiel," Dean explained, gesturing towards the creature that was the sole cause for that whole situation. "He's a friend, and no, before you start too, he didn't put any spell on me. We're just friends." he added with what looked suspiciously like an embarrassed blush spreading on his face.

"As if..." John grumbled, still not trusting That thing at all. When he turned his gaze on his wife to see her reaction, he found that one of her eyebrows was raised in disbelief, as if she wanted to point out that "friend" wasn't exactly the word she would use – and no, no, no, John was not going to think about That Thing and his dearest firstborn doing God knows what!

...he might feel sick.

"What are you?" it was a fortune that at least his wife was keeping her wits enough to question the unnatural being sitting at the table, because most of John's focus was busy in trying to remove that disgusting – _disgusting_! – image from his mind.

"I'm the one who keeps kidnapping your son."

Oh.

John couldn't help but raise his gaze once again to stare in disbelief at the creature peering back at them with unfaltering calm, remembering the scaled beast that plunged from the sky in a painful explosion of silver light every time that his son was about to be engaged to one of the women the king had chosen for him.

 _Oh_.

"You are the dragon?" Mary sounded as surprised as he felt, and then confusion creased her forehead when she fully took in the creature's words, "Why do you keep kidnapping Dean?"

The inhuman rumble that followed her query, like a growl gone wrong – or kept in check at the last moment – was the first sign of discomposure that That Thing had shown since John first took a step into the room.

"Because you keep trying to marry him off without his consent!" it snapped, finally raising to his feet and stalking closer, its movements fluid and dangerous in a way that no human should be able to achieve. Its blue eyes were bright with displeasure at the slight that he seemed to belive they committed towards either it or Dean – John wasn't sure, but he stepped closer to his wife nonetheless, ready to fight if necessary.

It didn't come to that: as soon as the dragon took a few step forwards, their son cut its way, grabbing his arm with one hand while he raised the other in a calming gesture.

"Whoa! Cas, buddy, it's ok," he tried to quell its irritation, head tilted down to catch the creature's gaze with his own. "We talked about this: I'm used to it."

Dean's words didn't seem to have the hoped effect: as soon as they left his mouth, the creature's face scrunched up in obvious frustration and an annoyed hiss left its lips.

"It's not..." it started, only to interrupt itself and squint at the taller man standing at its side, another low growl filling the room, "Why do you keep saying that?! Why do you keep trying to please him," he gestured towards John, making him glare in return even though the dragon wasn't really paying him any attention, "even when it makes you unhappy?! Do you have such a low opinion of your worth?!"

"Cas..." Dean looked troubled, his eyes darting several times towards both his parents, as if he were trying to read what was passing through their minds at the scene unfolding before them, before finally lowering them to stare at the floor.

"Dean..." the other sighed after taking in the prince's dejected stance, his voice coming out softer and more gentle when he spoke again, "you're the most glorious creature I have ever seen in all the centuries I have been alive. I have seen your kin make war and conquer each other for the silliest of reasons, and I've seen them survive in conditions that I did not believe they would be able to bear, yet I never held any interest towards them. _You_ , however..." the dragon continued, taking a step closer and locking its gaze with Dean's when the latter dared a brief glance at its face, "Your soul shines brighter than any I've laid my eyes on. You're brave, kind, strong, and love your people like each and everyone of them were your own family. I have no idea why you would content yourself to pass the rest of your life feeling anything other than unadulterated happiness."

By the time the dragon finished, the prince's cheeks had grown red with embarrassment and a small, pleased grin had started to tug at the corner of his mouth.

"You stupid lizard, you can't say that stuff in front of my parents," he mumbled even while his eyes shined with delight at the creature's words of praise.

"Why would I not?" the dragon replied, blinking in confusion, "They have known you since you were born: they aren't unaware of your valor."

Dean squirmed under the other's gaze and their eyes locked once more, both of them forgetting that they weren't alone in the room.

"So...just a friend, hum?" it was Mary's amused comment that snapped them out of the comfortable silence they had fallen in, Dean's face growing even hotter while the dragon turned its attention towards the woman peering at them with an expectant eyebrow raised up to her hairline.

"I might feel sick." John grumbled, still not sure if the scene he just witnessed was authentic or an elaborate ruse on the dragon's part. On one hand, the fact that he had spent the last ten minutes feeling like the third wheel at two lovers' secret rendezvous should be at least a little bit of proof that whatever was going on between his son and That Thing was at least marginally natural and untouched by magical influence; on the other hand...That Thing was a _dragon_.

A dragon!

His son was in...whatever-it-was with a _**dragon**_!

Yes, he was definitely going to feel sick.

His wife didn't help in making his distress any less encompassing when she clapped her hand – one of which was still holding the sword, he only vaguely noted – and loudly commented, "All right then, since we've cleared everything up, I'd say it's time for dinner! Castiel, you're strongly invited to participate."

"Mary, are you serious?!" he couldn't help but voice his displeasure at the whole situation – she was inviting it to dinner? _She was inviting it to dinner?!_ – only to receive a calm glance in return.

"Of course," she blinked back at him, looking surprised that he would even have to ask, "how am I supposed to question Castiel about his intentions towards our son otherwise?"

John couldn't help but stare: this wasn't how he had planned to find his son a partner at all!

**Author's Note:**

>  **Triggers:**  
>  \- Brief mention of past child abuse.
> 
> I made a Tumblr blog where I'll be posting all my fanfictions and fanarts, you can find it here: <http://dragon-scribbling-scribbles.tumblr.com/>
> 
> If you're interested in my personal blog instead, it's over here: <http://dragoneyes.tumblr.com/>


End file.
